


Idiomatic

by trilliath



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Booty Calls, Butt Dialing, ESL shenanigans, English is hard okay?, Enthusiastic Consent, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Penetrative Sex, Rimming, a good time was had by all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: "Sorry, was just…" he pauses to try and think about the right english words for the situation where his ass is making phone calls without his permission. There's a phrase he thinks, he's heard it used… "Booty call?"That sounds… almost right? Close enough, it must be, given the way Sidney huffs a breathless little laugh at him."Jesus. How, uh, how drunk are you?" Sidney asks, voice sounding a little odd.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimers: This story is a work of silly fiction inspired by the public personas of real hockey players. It is entirely a "what if in a parallel universe" and not in any way actual speculation about the persons named within. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also file under: things I thought I would never write... but their hockey is filthy hot and so are they and I am weak. So here. I give up. Have some RPF.

_"-ello? Geno?"_

Zhenya groans, blinking at the room. The TV is on but it's playing some documentary about… sharks? And it wouldn't be saying his english name anyway. The room is a bit spinny as he shifts on the couch where he's sprawled. Something hard digs into his hip and he swears at it vaguely and grunts, fumbling it out from under himself.

_"Uh… Geno? Everything, um. Okay?"_

"Sid?" he says, lifting his phone up and seeing his captain's face on the screen, with a call on speakerphone. 

"Geno?"

Zhenya hums lazily, shifting on the couch to something slightly more comfortable. "Yes."

"Are you…" Sid falters, and his voice sounds a little low, a little… something Zhenya can't place. "It's late."

"Not so late," he counters on reflex, though, he actually has no idea what time it is, now that he thinks about it. "Sorry, was just…" he pauses to try and think about the right english words for the situation where his ass is making phone calls without his permission. There's a phrase he thinks, he's heard it used… "Booty call?"

That sounds… almost right? Close enough, it must be, given the way Sidney huffs a breathless little laugh at him.

"Jesus. How, uh, how drunk are you?" Sidney asks, voice skeptical.

Zhenya rolls his eyes even though there's nobody there to see him, fingers scratching idly at his belly. "Not much drunk. Only drink with Lazy and PK and Slava."

"Slava?" Sid asks, sounding more confused than Zhenya thinks is warranted.

There's a cute little spotted shark on the screen and he grins.

"Baby Predator. Kamenev. So _young_ , Sid. I'm not know him before, you know - Lazy think all Russians know each other so he bring," he says with a scoff. Nevermind that it's more or less true, in the league, and that the kid had just played for Metallurg the year before and had actually been entertaining to talk to - especially since he'd joined Zhenya in making fun of Nealsy's still-pathetic tolerance for liquor. 

"They gone now. Curfew," he says in slightly petulant tones. He misses Nealer more than he'll ever admit, and there'd not been much time for more than a few good rounds of drinks after the game before they'd had to head in. Nostalgia makes his house seem excessively empty and quiet now, the way it always does after a good time ended early. But it’s been feeling worse that way lately. Too many people gone now. Too many babies taking their places. 

"Сейчас у меня нет уют," he says, because he can't quite find an adequate english equivalent in his vocabulary, then approximates it with "All alone now. House lonely."

"Oh," Sid murmurs, then clears his throat. "And you, uh, you called me?"

Zhenya hums again, squinting at the subtitles on the screen trying to figure out what kind of shark it is. "Like I say, booty call."

"Okay. Well, shit," Sid laughs faintly. He clears his throat again, and then there's a rustling of fabric over the line and he says, "Okay. I'll… uh. I'll be right over, then."

"Yeah?" Zhenya says, pulling his drifting attention back to the conversation, surprised. It is late, now that he looks. Later than Sidney is often willing to interact with other humans, let alone drunk Russians. "You come?"

Sid breathes out a tight breath, and his voice is low when he says, "Well. I don't like being lonely either."

"Good," Zhenya agrees. "Not be lonely."

"Okay. See you," Sid says, and then doesn't wait for an answer, the call dropping from the screen.

Zhenya snorts at his phone as the display changes. There are several strings of other numbers and letters of gibberish listed above his name, but by virtue of Sid's being among his fast-dial numbers, he'd somehow been one of the few actual people to get a call. The rude text in his new messages from Seryozha tells him Sid's not the only one to get the benefit of his backside's sociability, but Sid's the only one who hadn't hung up.

With a groan for his neck being left at that awkward angle as he'd dozed earlier, he slings himself up off the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He's not tired after an energizing game, especially not now that he's had a little nap. The leftover alcohol in his system is leaving him pleasantly loose and relaxed and, now armed with the knowledge that Sid's coming over to fill the void of company, contented with his lot in life. 

He leaves the tv on, because it keeps the emptiness of the house at bay, then goes about putting away the leftover bottles and food detritus from his itinerant guests. At some point he gets distracted by the way his stomach rumbles, so he heads for the kitchen and puts on some water for pasta and digs out his vodka to add to a jar of red sauce because it's Sid's favorite. He also sets out a couple glasses by the bottle on an afterthought since they, unlike the traveling Predators, have an off day tomorrow. If he can convince Sid to come over in the middle of the night, maybe he can convince him to have a good time too. At the very least, he can feed him. His Mama would be pleased. 

He hums to himself idly as he cooks, the old Metallurg chant fresh in his mind from all the reminiscing. The canned sauce is fine, but dicing up some fresh onions and peppers and tomatoes to simmer in with the vodka will only make it better, so he busies himself with that while he waits for the water to boil and then the pasta to cook. 

In all, it means it seems like it hardly takes any time at all until he hears his front door opening in the distance, hears Sid calling, "Geno?" through the empty rooms.

"In kitchen," he calls back, busy taking the pasta off the burner.

He hears the door close and lock, then Sidney's familiar odd stride across the floors till Zhenya sees in his peripheral vision he's coming in through the archway. There he pauses, hands brushing together absently as he leans a little against the column.

"Was hungry, decide to cook, you take forever to get here," Zhenya teases, sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrates on not scalding himself while dumping the pasta into the waiting colander in the sink.

Sid makes a soft indignant sound that Zhenya would think just him playing along with teasing as usual, but when he glances up over his shoulder to look at him, he finds Sid's face unexpectedly intent.

Zhenya looks back to what he's doing because he has to, but he makes quick work of it. The pasta then set aside, he actually turns and looks Sid over, takes note of his appearance. 

He looks freshly showered, his hair all in short damp curls and his face razor-smooth. He's wearing his customary black vee-neck, though it looks tight and clean, not like something he's been wearing all day or sleeping in - it seems lower-cut than usual, his golden necklace catching the dim light. And then there's the jeans, which are dark and form-fitting in a style he's not used to seeing from Sidney. 

"Hi," Zhenya says, feeling his brows going high in response to the unexpected put-togetherness of Sidney's look, considering the time of night and the fact that he's fairly certain he'd pulled Sidney from his bed.

The tips of Sid's fingers slip into the tops of his pockets, his head tilting and his eyes dark as he says, "Hey," back, soft and low.

Which…

Well. It's not like he's never noticed Sid looking this kind of good in ten years of knowing him. He's also not missed the various genders of the people Sid's gone home with, on the rare occasion he does. He's seen him like this before, but only rarely, only on nights where the hockey was too good to not go out and enjoy the night a little longer, or in the summer when there weren't so many people paying attention to who, exactly, Sidney Crosby might be setting his eyes on in a dark corner of a crowded bar. 

He's just never had those eyes trained on him looking like that.

Zhenya's feet are taking him closer before he can really process it, though he's not disagreeing with their decision. Especially not with how Sid's nostrils flare as his eyes flick down over Zhenya's old Metallurg tee and threadbare lounge pants in a way that's so proprietary he's left with goosebumps raising on his skin.

"You here," he says, half question, because this isn't what he'd expected. 

Sidney's head tilts, his focus darting back up to Zhenya's eyes, pressing into him. The air feels stretched taut, the silence like a held breath around them. The echoing emptiness of the place suddenly feels like a perfect cocoon of privacy, an intimacy far, far away from the rest of the world.

"You called."

He says it like it's the most certain thing in the world, that if Zhenya calls him, he will come. And maybe it is. It is for him, the other way around.

Zhenya's not quite sure how that accidental call made with his backside has gotten them to here, exactly, but the way Sidney's shoulders angle in to him, the way his lips press against each other and then part just a little, the way his eyes don't waver… he's almost certain he knows exactly where it is they've ended up.

He's… thought things before. Of course. It's not a place he's ever let himself _seriously_ consider going, but now that they're there…

Sid reads him as easy as ever, and his hands are slipping from his pockets and moving in smooth coordination with Zhenya's so that by the time Zhenya's got an arm around Sid's waist, Sid's fingers are already curling into the hair at the back of his head and dragging him down to align their mouths.

There's nothing coy about the way Sid kisses. His lips are firm and smooth and purposeful as they glide and press, strong as they open Zhenya's lips and jaw to admit his tongue. His body leans in, up against Zhenya's leaner build, stretching to fit against his height. One hand slides down Zhenya's back and then over his ass in blatant intent, gripping the back of his thigh. 

Zhenya feels dizzy with the contrast of wet soft warmth and the cool evening air around them. The same cologne he's caught scent of in passing for years. The press of Sidney's body against his is so solid and warm, but yielding in the way of flesh, no matter how strong the muscles are pulling them together. 

The alcohol in Zhenya's system is mostly gone, but what's left maybe makes him hesitate a fraction of a second less about doling out affectionate passes of his hands over Sidney's body. Zhenya's hands roam, tracing all the lines and curves at their disposal as he searches with his tongue in turn, a slow, gliding dance of push and pull as they explore, taste. It's electric. Arousal is knifing through him fast and ruthless and he moans into Sidney's mouth, curls himself tighter over him as they kiss hard and deep like he can wrap him up into himself.

Sidney is so very, deeply familiar to him. He's touched him hundreds, thousands of times over the last decade, in dozens of different contexts. 

But never this one.

Eventually he breaks the kiss, partly because he feels like his head is spinning, and partly because he's been a hockey player too long to not have a little bit of trouble breathing solely through his nose off the ice. But he doesn't let go of Sid, doesn't stop the way one of his hands is stroking slowly down the length of his spine and spreading over his backside, keeping their hips tight together as Sid protests the parting by setting his teeth on Zhenya's lower lip for a nip almost sharp enough to hurt.

Sid's eyes are dark with want as he tips his head back and stares up at Zhenya, just thin rings of hazel around the pupils. His brows go up as he licks his lips, exhaling slow and deep through his nose.

"Good," Zhenya half asks, half states, his voice low and rough with want.

"Bed?" Sid replies in a similar tone, slipping back from his grip. When Zhenya nods, Sid pats his flank and then just turns and walks away. He still doesn't know why this raw sexual side of Sid is making an appearance tonight but it isn't surprising to find him as goal oriented and determined as he is in everything. He's moving with long strides, casual-seeming like he owns the place as he heads towards the hallway leading upstairs, but the glance he casts over his shoulder is incendiary and there's just a flicker of vulnerability there that has Zhenya sucking in a breath as he disappears around the corner.

Zhenya swears under his breath and stares after him until he can manage to get his limbs coordinated enough to move. Then he makes it to the stairs before he remembers he needs to turn off the stovetop so as not to burn the house down around them. The pasta gets abandoned entirely. 

By the time he's done that and jogged up the stairs, Sid's already in his bedroom, shirtless and making himself at home turning on one of the bedside lamps and tossing decorative throw pillows off Zhenya's oversized bed.

It's done decisively and with an air of almost careless disregard for shy politeness that Zhenya thinks probably shouldn't turn him on as much as it does. But something about seeing Sidney here, touching his things and making a place for himself in Zhenya's bed like there's no doubt that he belongs there, like it isn't something that's only just occurred to either of them as a possibility…

Zhenya bites at his lip, just watching as Sid tugs open one of the drawers of the nightstand, rooting around in it before moving on to the next one. 

"Other side," he says eventually when Sid glances back at him for guidance when that one too turns up nothing but books and other odds and ends. Sidney rolls his eyes and huffs a little impatiently, but his smirk is self-deprecating as he slides himself across the bed to get to the other nightstand.

Zhenya strips his own shirt off and drifts close, stands over Sidney as he sits on the edge of the bed and tugs open the drawer with condoms and lube scattered in easy reach. When he reaches out and touches Sidney's shoulder, his neck and then his hair, Sid hums in approval and leans into it, twists so that he can look up at Zhenya.

Sid's face is closer to Zhenya's crotch than not, and he doesn't hesitate in running his eyes down Zhenya's body. His eyes linger on where Zhenya's dick has started pushing against the soft stretchy fabric of his lounge pants in anticipation. One of Sid's hands follows soon after, taking the same path skimming, teasing down Zhenya's abs and over his groin and then down his thigh.

"What you want?" Zhenya asks, scratching his nails a little in the still-damp hair at the back of Sid's head. "What we do?"

Sid shivers visibly at Zhenya's touch, his hand tightening on the back of Zhenya's thigh, though he isn't pulling him in yet. One thick, rounded shoulder lifts easily as he offers, "Lots of things. I could suck you. You could fuck me, I could fuck you. Lots of things. What do you want?"

Zhenya gnaws on his lip a little more as the words spill casually off Sid's lips. He imagines any, all those things and knows his body's response is obvious from the way the corner of Sid's mouth twitches up, smug.

"Lots of things," he murmurs, letting his palm splay along the side of Sid's face, lets his thumb glide along the high, arched line of his cheekbone and smooth bare skin of his jaw till is slides down to his lips.

Sidney looks up through his lashes at him, lips parting a little over the pad of his thumb, but then he shifts back a little and says, "Well, I came prepared for the second one."

It takes a moment for Zhenya to understand, but when he does, he swears softly under his breath and then drags his hand through the shower-damp little curls of Sidney's close-cropped hairstyle, then pulls back and says, "Up. Up, sexy pants off."

Sid laughs at that, but he obliges, starting in on undoing his fly and then peeling the tight denim down over his - yes, his bare hips underneath.

Zhenya pushes him back on the bed and hauls the jeans off the rest of the way for him, impatient. The way Sidney's shoulders drop and his head tilts back, mouth loose and his eyes sparking just a little as Zhenya shoves him back… Zhenya doesn't hesitate to manhandle him over onto his belly, to shove his thighs apart and climb up over him and press him down with his own body, leaning close to nuzzle his face in against the back of Sid's head and nip at his ear.

"You like, I use mouth on you? Make nice and wet for my cock?" he asks, letting his teeth set in against Sid's neck a little as he lets himself grind his still-clothed cock up against the bare warmth of Sid's body. He's not broad enough to wrap him up the way he wants, but he gives it his best shot anyway, curling his limbs tight.

"Fuck," Sid swears, pressing his face into Zhenya's pillow, then lifting it again and turning his head, pressing back against Zhenya as he says, "Yeah, yes. I'd like that."

Zhenya bites a little harder, indulging himself a moment in nuzzling Sid and feeling him breathe and press back against him. Then he sits back on his haunches, nudges Sid's necklace back where it belongs and then strokes his hands down Sid's back and flank, curls over the swell of his perfect ass and gives it a squeeze. Sid grunts, reaches over to pull one of Zhenya's pillows down under his belly to prop himself up on, getting his cock nudged back out from under his hips and bringing his ass up even higher for Zhenya to reach. 

He's beautiful, the way he's all muscles and curves, all strength and finely-honed leanness, but even more so because Zhenya knows just what he can do with that body. He's also as squeaky-clean and lightly lubricated, as advertised, and Zhenya drags his fingertips over the delicate skin puckered tight between his cheeks. Sid's body flexes in reflex and he breathes out long and slow, head twisting back so he can cast a dark-eyed look over Zhenya behind him.

Zhenya watches his face as he bends to repeat the motion with his tongue, and Sid watches him back just as intently till the sensation is apparently enough his eyelids flutter closed before he turns his head away again to a more comfortable angle.

This isn't something Zhenya does often - almost never. It's a certain level of intimacy he isn't willing to approach outside of a serious relationship. But then, new as this turn of events might be between them, their relationship is nothing if not a serious one. Perhaps the most important one of his adult life - certainly the entire decade of his twenties. So there's not even a thought towards hesitation in the way he approaches this. 

When Zhenya prods with his tongue, Sid's hole is yielding but not loose. He takes his time tracing the rim, letting his mouth go slack enough that saliva mixes with the leftover lube enough to get everything thoroughly slick and sloppy as he works the tip of his tongue in quick little flicks.

"Geno, jesus," Sid murmurs, calves flexing on either side of Zhenya's ribs, feet digging in a little to where Zhenya can feel his toes pressing in individually. Zhenya responds with teeth, digging them into the soft skin just off the center, enough that Sid makes a strangled, moaning sound and kicks him in the ribs.

"Feel good?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over the little red mark, because he's fairly certain he knows the answer but he's still going to check.

"Fuck," Sid replies, "I'm so fucking hard right now."

Well, never let it be said he can't take a suggestion. Zhenya shifts his shoulders so he can move lower, down to where Sid's very stiff cock is pressed back by the pillow he's propped up on. He lets his tongue drag slow and long down the length of him, lets his stubble and his nose and his jaw press and nudge and stimulate all that delicate skin. Then he sucks one of Sid's balls into his mouth, humming low as he tugs, just a little.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," Sid's saying, hips shifting in a trembling motion as Zhenya rolls him on his tongue.

But Zhenya's running low on patience himself, his cock throbbing painfully between his legs as he listens to Sidney's panting. He pulls back, gives Sid one more tug, a little sharp, enough that he flinches and grunts but from the way he shudders he likes it just as much as not. 

Zhenya grabs a condom and lube out of the drawer, makes quick work of getting himself unclothed and then covered in both, and at the crackling plastic Sidney heaves a deep, relieved-sounding sigh and spreads his thighs even further, shifting his torso on the pillow he hugs into himself and settles into to wait.

He's slick and soft and hot when Zhenya bumps the head of his dick up against his hole, and when Zhenya pauses to say, "Okay?" Sid reaches back with his hand twisting over Zhenya's hip in a hard grip that drags him forward like he can will Zhenya into fucking him.

Zhenya goes but goes slow, in part because he's not really been stretching Sid out enough for this yet, and partly because the soft press of his body is such delicious torture. It's been a while since he's bothered to have sex with anyone, since the last breakup turned permanent. He's old enough now that he knows the differences between good sex and comfortable sex and easy sex, and the novelty of random hookups is long gone - even if it's still worth a go from time to time. He just hasn't wanted to. 

It also means the sensation of Sidney's hot, slick ass around his dick is an especially exciting contrast to his hand. So he takes it slow, getting the full length of himself buried inside him.

It's easy to read Sid. Maybe it's after knowing him so long, maybe it's the way tonight he seems to have dropped his guard in a way Zhenya's rarely seen, but he sees every reaction written in the lines of his back, the ways his hands clutch at the sheets and the changes in his breathing. It means he's already leaning in to start pressing in hard and fast by the time Sid finishes saying the words, "Geno, come on," in needy tones, the tail end of the words turning into a gasping groan.

Being with Sid means he doesn't have to even hesitate to snap his hips in hard, or lean his weight into him. He'd have to go a lot further than that to even come close to testing Sidney's limits, he's sure. They're both worked up enough that as soon as Zhenya gets his legs arranged for the right leverage and starts up motion, they both head right for hard and fast, pushing and pulling against each other into a rhythm that feels eerily like skating together on the ice, timing distinctly individual and yet somehow synchronized and producing excellent results. They've sure as hell never done this together before, not even close, but nobody'd know it to look at them.

He gives only the most fleeting of thoughts to slowing it down, dragging it out. He wants to race for it, to challenge and be challenged. The slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, and Sid's fingers are digging hard into Zhenya's thigh where he can reach back. The feeling of his balls swinging heavy against Sid's beneath them has him groaning and adding a little grind to the end of his thrusts, just to savor the sensation. It's filthy, raw and Sid seems to be loving it as much as he is, back arched into it, punched-out little moans escaping his throat. 

Sid leaves his hands fisted in the sheets for a long while, keeps tightening them every time he almost moves them down and Zhenya's struck by the thought of what it'd be like to _hold_ them down for him, but since that thought has him groaning and slamming his hips forward harder as he tries not to lose it himself, he doesn't mind that Sid squirms an arm under himself, obviously to get ahold of his cock. 

Zhenya twists his longer limbs and torso a little so he can put his own hand down to join him there, curling around the base and balls while he lets Sid have free rein to jerk himself off how he best pleases. He has to drop down more of his weight onto his knees and his other arm, making it a lot more effort to keep up his thrusts, but he's got athleticism to spare it's worth it for the way Sidney groans and presses back against him. 

"So good, Sid. Always score best together," Zhenya hums, punctuating his words with gentle tugging on Sid's balls.

Sid's head turns on the pillow, his lips parted and shining with spit, eyes heavy and dark as they angle towards Zhenya's face. The motion tips his hair over where Zhenya's fingers are braced on the bed beside his head, and on impulse, Zhenya twists his fingers into the dark, sweat-damp strands and tugs.

"Fuckin' right," Sid pants, his eyes slipping closed as his hand works faster over his dick and Zhenya follows his cue, tightens his grip and fucks harder into him till his breaths are more like mounting little moans and his body's stiffening up underneath him.

He can feel Sid's balls going tight under his fingers, drawing up as the rest of his body goes taut. Zhenya swears as Sid makes a sound like someone's taken him to the boards and then comes, hips flexing into the grind of Zhenya's in little pulses, his body clamping down around Zhenya's cock in rhythm that he's helpless to resist. Sid goes loose under him and he takes his final triumphant thrusts and groans his satisfaction.

After a moment to savor, Sid uses his multitudinous assets to shove Zhenya off from where he's slumped over his back, grousing, "How are you so heavy when you're so fucking skinny."

"All in ass," he replies, still a little breathless as they sprawl out beside each other.

Sid snorts, punches him vaguely in the hip. For a few beats they just lie there a while, looking at each other, and it occurs to Zhenya that perhaps now he's seen every one of Sidney's faces. Sex-stupid must surely be the last on the list. Their breaths are returning fast, because sprints are what they do for a living, but he's still charmed by the dampness of sweat at Sidney's temple, the warm glow in his cheeks and the brightness in his eyes. He's always been beautiful, that's not something Zhenya's ever not seen. Zhenya lifts a hand to run his thumb over Sidney's cheekbone again and Sid's quirked lips go self-satisfied in a way that would make Zhenya poke him if he weren't so pleased over being the cause. Instead he just wants to kiss them soft again.

When he leans towards Sid, though, he's drawn up short by a firm hand on his chest.

"Don't-"

Something stupidly big stutters to a halt inside him, an anticipation of something a lot broader than he should have assumed was implied by Sidney taking him to bed. It's even more idiotic considering this isn't something he's even thought about wanting before, beyond the errant idle fantasy or twelve. But this is _Sid_ , and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to want anything, everything with him. He swallows, unable to look at whatever kind but rejecting expression will be on Sid's face. Instead he rolls back the other way, swinging his legs down to the floor.

"No, hey," Sid says, hand latching hard and fast on Zhenya's wrist. It's a tight grip, and probably only through the benefit of leverage could he pull himself free. He finds he doesn't really want to try, though the pang of hurt is sharp enough to make him want to throw him off and go sulk.

"You know, is fine of course, I understand," Zhenya says, because it will absolutely have to be. He's not going to fuck this up, not any of it. As incredible as it sometimes still seems, he's an adult. He can handle rejection.

"No. I um. I just. Fuck, I'm not saying I don't want you to kiss me, I do. I just," he laughs tightly. "I need you to rinse your mouth first?"

Zhenya twists around to look at him, to take in the embarrassed blush and the look of chagrin on Sid's face. 

"I know, I know it doesn't really make sense because I'm fine with rimming - both doing and getting it done for me, it's just. I really, really can't with the whole ass to mouth thing." He lets go of Zhenya and rolls onto his back, hands coming up to his eyes as he groans at himself. "I know, it's stupid and weird, I'm sorry."

Zhenya sighs, scratches his hand through his hair at his temple as he shrugs and says, "Well, Sid is weird so this normal."

Sid honks a laugh, groaning again but letting his hands fall back and his head tilt in Zhenya's direction again. His face is softened and almost lazy-looking as he looks Zhenya over, then flops a hand out to bump his knuckles at his hip.

"Really. This was good. _Unexpected_ , but good."

Zhenya cocks his chin and his eyebrow at Sid. "You not expect? You come over dressed all-" he waves in useless illustration. "Say come prepared."

"Well, yeah," Sid rolls his eyes, his cheeks rounded with a suppressed smile and pink with warmth. "I meant the part where you out of the blue decided I should be your _booty call_ tonight."

Zhenya frowns at him, tracing the words around his mouth as he thinks through the english again but it still doesn't make sense. "Decide? I'm not decide. Phone decide when I fall asleep on."

For whatever reason that declaration, after a moment's continued confusion, has Sidney's mouth falling open, a look of pure incredulity crossing his face.

"Oh my god," he says, staring at Zhenya. "You- That wasn't a booty call, that was a butt dial _what the fuck_."

Sid saying 'butt dial' has him remembering that he had been half guessing at the idiom when he'd used it, and that it hadn't felt exactly right. In retrospect, and in the context of Sid coming over in the middle of the night primed for sex, it's mortifyingly easy to put the two overly-similar phrases back together with their particular meanings. He scrubs a hand along his neck and grumbles, "English is hard."

Sid throws his hands over his face, laughter breathless and sharp. "And I just showed up and… Oh my god," he whispers to himself as his abs flex with silent laughter. He looks so good here, in Zhenya's bed, naked and sprawled out and laughing.

"Yes, Sid get goal, phone and butt get assist," Zhenya says, earning himself a groan.

Zhenya gets up off the bed, pads away into the adjoining bathroom. Anyone else he'd maybe worry about such a spectacular miscommunication, about misinterpreted intentions and social gaffes. But this is Sid, his Sid. They understood each other long before they spoke the same language. They've gone to war together, survived injury and despair together, reached their greatest triumphs together. Besides, there'd obviously been no question at any point that either of them hadn't wanted to be exactly where they had been in his bed just minutes ago, unexpected as the start may have been.

He trashes the condom and dutifully sets about washing out his mouth. Sid wanders in after him a minute or two later, glancing at him in the mirror with a shy smile and then snickering and smacking him on the ass when Zhenya makes a show out of gargling his mouthwash. Sid shuts himself into the water closet.

Mouth clean, Zhenya leaves him to his ablutions and finds himself some shorts before heading downstairs again. He'd been hungry before, he's even hungrier now. The pasta's a gluey mess so he bins it, but the sauce he just turns the heat back on under and starts a fresh pot of water. He pours some more of the vodka into the sauce, then into the glasses he'd set out earlier. 

Sid's footfalls come on the stairs not much later, and Zhenya looks up and smiles when he comes and leans against the counter beside him. He's wearing his own shirt again, but he's pulled on a pair of Zhenya's shorts instead of the fuck-me jeans. It's a middle-ground, a mixed message. He's not sure which way Sid wants it to end up. He's not sure of his own thoughts on the matter either, really, though he's leaning towards having a warm bed the night through at the very least.

Sid's ever-sharp eyes have spotted the vodka on the counter and in Zhenya's hand, so he shifts and retrieves the glass left waiting for him. 

"Cheers," he offers softly, and Zhenya obliges him, clicking his glass.

"Hungry?" Zhenya asks.

Sid's eyes flick over the sauce and then up to Zhenya's face, head tilting. "Yeah, for sure, if you're already cooking…"

Zhenya snorts, giving the sauce a little stir and then setting the spoon aside on the rack. "I'm not cooking you say 'oh no not hungry'? Canadian politeness say starve? Dumb. Good thing I know you always hungry."

Sid scoffs at him and mutters, "What like you aren't?"

They stand there a little bit in companionable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the water not boil, then Sid shifts beside him, sets his glass aside with a soft click on the stone counter.

"Hey, can I…?" Sid says, voice a little hesitant.

Zhenya turns to look at him, sees a soft, inquisitive look in his eyes. He shifts to stand away from the counter and face him fully as he reaches up to cup the back of Zhenya's head. He doesn't pull him down, just licks his lips and glances down at Zhenya's mouth, but Zhenya understands the question now. 

He answers by lowering his head and pressing their lips together. It's a gentle thing, an affirmation. He doesn't demand anything. Doesn't push for anything beyond reassuring Sidney that they're okay. Zhenya knows that wherever they do or don't take this, whatever Sid wants out of this, Sid's going to try and make good on anything he thinks wasn't up to his standards, whatever he thinks he failed at.

Zhenya doesn't need any reparations. He finds no fault with Sid's having preferences, he never has.

He pats the side of Sidney's head and pulls back, smiles easily at him. He's about to go back to stirring a pot that doesn't need stirred when Sid's grip tightens on him, tugs his attention back.

"We okay?" Sid asks.

Zhenya sighs lightly, shifts to wrap his arms around Sidney's shoulders and settle in against him a little. Apparently they are going to do this now. Not that he's surprised, really. Sid's not the type to leave something lie except for on those rare occasions where he goes into full denial mode. 

"Stupid question, Sid, we always best. Ask real question."

And Sid's brow furrows, his lips curving down briefly into something a millimeter away from being a pout of actual annoyance. He studies Zhenya's face a moment, then huffs a breath through his nose, eyes skittering away.

Zhenya feels fondness spill over in his belly, mingling with the warmth of having his most important person in his arms. He smiles, brushes his lips over Sid's brow, his cheek. 

"Is okay, I'm ask. You want to stay here tonight? Maybe other nights too?"

Sid looks back up at him, lips pursed.

"Do you want me to?" he asks firmly, face impenetrable and determined.

"Да, конечно," he says easily, because when it comes down to it, it really is that simple. "You want?"

Sid huffs a laugh at him, shaking his head incredulously, but then slowly, in the way he always does when he's admitting something private, he says, "Yeah. Guess I do."

"Good," Zhenya says, taking one of Sid's hands and using it to pat his own ass. "Can tell butt he allowed to keep call you. Very chatty, needs lots of attention, too much for me."

Sid bursts out into startled laughter, then can't help continuing as his mirth bubbles over, head thrown back and eyes squinting shut as he honks his way through it as Zhenya smiles fondly down at him, tongue between his teeth. Sid smacks his arm but gropes Zhenya's ass anyway and Zhenya wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight.


End file.
